Mandatory Call To Arms
by WeirdKid27
Summary: A fic about three friends who go to a Weird Al concert that accidentally becomes the catalyst for the end of the world.
1. Chapter 1

I'll never forget the day that the world was thrown into chaos, and nobody will believe me when I tell them that it all started with the abduction of "Weird Al" Yankovic.

It is a particularly warm day in Iowa, the day our story begins. Outside of a casino near the Nebraska border, a huge crowd of people in Hawaiian shirts and messed up curly wigs huddle at the gate, waiting to be let into the venue where they'll party way too hard to comedy music.

Three people push their way to the front of the line, shouting casual, "thank yous," over their shoulders as they force their way along. One of them is dressed in a spongebob squarepants shirt and a tutu, another is dressed as a decorated member of the armed forces, and the other is dressed as Stanley Spadowski.

When the gates to the venue finally open, the three are among the first ten people let in. Spadowski and the General hurry across the astroturf to save their spots at the very front and as close to the center as possible, as the one in the spongebob and tutu sprints across the venue to the bar to procure bottled water and mountain dew for the group. When she pushes her way back through the crowd to her squad, a few people give her dirty looks. She brushes them off and flips her magical green and purple hair over her shoulder as she takes her spot next to the General.

"Dude, Dew me," says Spadowski. Spongebob casually tosses one of the bottles over to them before offering one to the General.

"We're gonna be waiting here for an hour," whines Spongebob.

"Worth it," says the General. "Look how fast the front filled up."

"Shit," replies Spongebob, "the crowd's like ten people thick on all sides of us now."

"LET GO OF MY MOP!" Spadowski cries suddenly. The other two look over to see a security guard trying to take their mop away.

"Dude, what the hell?" Spongebob asks.

"She could use it as a weapon," the guard points out. Spongebob glares him down.

" _They_ aren't going to use their mop as a weapon. It's part of their costume. Good god, what do you think us fans are gonna do, try to rush the stage? Sheesh dude chill out!"

"It's my mop! Give it back!" Spadowski cries. Behind the three of them, the crowd seems amused by the events unfolding at the front. Glancing toward the back of the stage, Steve and Jim are clearly visible taking video of this altercation.

"HEY, GIVE THEM BACK THE MOP," someone cries from further back in the crowd.

"Yeah! Let them keep the mop!"

"UHF RULES!" another cries.

"Gerald, you're drunk, shut up!" someone shouts.

Finally, the security guard relents and allows Spadowski to keep their mop. The crowd cheers and Spadowski holds it high; a trophy in the fight against overzealous security guards everywhere.

The trio's triumph gives way to the full pandemonium of the beginning of Fun Zone, and soon the mop is abandoned by their feet as they jump and scream and cheer.


	2. Chapter 2

It feels like an eternity passes between the end of Fun Zone and the beginning of the videos that lead into Al starting off the concert proper, and when the videos start the crowd collectively loses its shit. But none of them cheer quite as hard as the three at the front on Jim's side, which remains devoid of its band member as Steve, Rubén, and Bermuda take their places.

As the first notes of Tacky play on the speakers, Spadowski, Spongebob, and the General scream and for a moment the security guard thinks that they might try to rush the stage, but then Al begins singing and the crowd falls strangely quiet as they watch, entranced, as he does his long and winding entrance while singing his heart out.

Everyone laughs as he takes Jim by the face and shoves him as he passes him by the bus, and everyone laughs even louder when he pretends to poke the eyes out of the VIP concierge. Nobody in the crowd whom had actually dealt with that man for more than two minutes had any amount of respect for that VIP concierge. He'd been nothing but rude the entire day thus far.

As Al actually enters the venue and makes his way to the stage, the crowd explodes louder than any of them had thought possible. He high-fives some of the fans he passes and the smile plastered on his face is the most genuine thing most people there have ever seen. Though the man looks exceedingly tired, you can tell he's having the time of his life.

He climbs onstage just before he reaches Spongebob, Spadowski, and the General, but he winks at Spadowski as he secures his microphone in the mic-stand. As Tacky ends, thunderous applause is all that anyone there can hear. Pity, it was so loud none of them heard the initial gunfire as the desk clerks at the hotel/casino were dispatched with and the terrorists advanced on the concert venue.

Al went right into Lame Claim to Fame, which got the whole crowd dancing and singing along.

"UHF WAS AWESOME!" a familiar drunken voice shouts above the general din of excited concert-goers as Al sings. His drunken outburst gains a hearty chuckle from both Steve and Al, and Al shakes his head as he nearly forgets the next lyric he's supposed to sing.

"Gerald, I swear to god—" the drunk man's friend began, but was knocked to the ground. Presumably by Gerald, though most would never know who Gerald was nor why he was so in love with UHF.

As Lame Claim to Fame ends, a few people turn their attention to what sounds like cars crashing perhaps mixed with the distant thunder of fireworks off in the direction from whence Al had come. Al is one of those who seems to hear the noise, as are our three heroes in the front row.

"Gotta love performing on a holiday weekend!" Al chuckles nervously into the microphone as he looks out over the crowd. "Never know what kind of things you'll hear!"

The General exchanges knowing looks with Spongebob and Spadowski, and the three of them square their shoulders as if anticipating something terrible.

"Anyway," Al continues after an excessively long pause, "I have a question for you. Hope it's not too personal, but…"


	3. Chapter 3

Spongebob's attention is pulled away from Al for three seconds as an explosion can be heard from the vicinity of the tour bus. A few in the crowd scream as the rest stare at the rising plume of thick black smoke coming from the side of the hotel, where the bus had been parked. Spongebob looks to the sound of the explosion before realizing it was a distraction. She's halfway over the security barrier in front of her as she hears exactly what she was hoping to prevent: a terrified scream coming from onstage.

"AL!" she shrieks as she throws herself over the security barrier. She looks up to see a group of no fewer than six men dressed all in black with ski masks and gloves swarming the singer and fending off the band members. "Weird Al" Yankovic looks positively terrified as he clutches his accordion to his chest, shrinking away from the men who are advancing on him.

"FINCH, ATHENA, COME ON!" Spongebob cries as she staggers up the stage. She curses leaving her knife in her purse back in the hotel room. Though she's got great lower body strength, she's not well versed in hand-to-hand combat. Something she always meant to remedy, but had simply not had the time.

By the time she reaches the stage, two of the men have Al by the arms and one is holding a large hunting knife to his neck.

"One step more and his life will end here and now," one of the men hisses as she approaches. Spongebob freezes, signaling to her friends to be careful. "Hate to leave the concert early, but Mr. Yankovic here seems to have double booked himself. Ta-ta!"

The man with the knife to Al's neck releases him and the two holding his arms drag him along. The men in their ski masks and gloves move as one fluid unit, and before Spongebob can think to give chase, they're gone.

She can't get the sight of his wide, terrified, pleading eyes out of her mind as she sinks to her knees and stares at the spot where he'd just stood, where he'd just performed a song and a half…

"TARA," the sound of her own name is the only thing that snaps her out of it. "Tara, if we're going to save him we've got to GO. NOW!" When she looks up, she sees Finch standing beside her, mop held in a defensive position. Athena stands behind her, brilliant military costume horribly askew and singed— how did it manage to be burnt? Were there more explosions? I hate to ask questions, dear reader, but I fear that at that time the only thing I could do was try to hold it together as my hero was dragged off by a group of terrorists.

It takes both Finch and Athena to pull Tara back to her feet, and it is only then that any of them is made aware of the insanity unfolding where they'd been standing just minutes before.

A casual glance across the stage reveals Steve and Bermuda still struggling to take in what had just happened. Jim is nowhere to be seen. Rubén is trying to contact the authorities, his family, _somebody why won't the cell phone just work?_

People are trampling other people and the sound of screaming rings through the air from every direction.

Finch notices Al's microphone laying near their feet and picks it up. The trio looks at each other before the microphone is handed to Tara. She sighs and takes a deep, shaky breath.

" _Everyone_ ," she cries into the microphone, hoping that the speakers will still work. From the way that everyone on stage and those still near the sage cringes, it's safe to say they work and Tara has no idea how to speak into a microphone.

"We _have_ to go after them," she continues. "We can't just flee— his life is in danger!" Her voice is cracking. Why is her voice cracking? Is it because of the rain? She can feel the rain on her face but the sky is still that brilliant shade of blue even through the smoke that billows upward.

A few people, people she recognizes if only vaguely, have made their way back over to the stage. Her words have clearly gotten to them. She hands the microphone back to Finch, who clears their throat and says, "He's going to die if we don't go after them. That's a fact. They almost killed him right here on stage—"

"But they'll kill us!" one of the people from the crowd shouts.

"UHF RULES!" a familiar drunken voice shouts. "COUNT ME IN!"

"Gerald you're drunk, you can't go fightin' terrorists!"

"HEY, LET GERALD DO WHAT HE WANTS!" Athena shouts. A drunken cheer punctuated with a belch comes from a man wearing a green shirt and yellow houndstooth shorts back near what remains of the merch tables. "GERALD'S DRUNK, GERALD DON'T GIVE A SHIT."

"Excuse me," one fan who now is leaning rather nervously on what's left of the security barrier where the trio on the stage had been standing says. "But what do you expect us to be able to do? They had guns. Big guns."

"We've got Tara," Finch said, gesturing to the one in the Spongebob shirt and the tutu.

"Forgive me if I'm a bit skeptical. I mean, unless she's from Krypton—"

"You don't need to be bulletproof to be able to fight."

"Yeah but what I'm saying is if we don't have guns—"

"LOOK," Tara says, stomping her foot against the stage. The sound echoes across the wreckage of the stage. "Every minute we waste here is another minute of distance they put between us.

"We've _got_ to get after them. If they kill Al, it's gonna be our fault at this point. We let this happen." She looks around the stage, making eye contact with Steve, Rubén, and Bermuda, who each look ready to step forward and help fight. "We can follow the carnage. My guess is they're local, they didn't sound foreign. What skin I could see was white. These are local boys. What did that one say? Al double booked?"

Athena nods and pulls her phone out, searching for anything she can find on someone inviting Al for an event on July second. Finch hands the microphone back to Tara, who works to get those who want to help up on stage so she can get a good look at them.

In the end, fifteen people— both band members and fans— have gathered onstage with the trio. A ragtag bunch of misfits, the group doesn't look like much, but let me tell you this: that group was the last thing standing between the world we knew and absolute chaos.


	4. Chapter 4

Darkness was falling quickly as eighteen people strode quickly through the smoke and the flames of the still-smoldering tour bus on the way to the parking lot. If it wasn't for some of the weird ass costumes these people wear, they'd look like incredible badasses.

Athena is flanked by Finch on her left and Tara on her right. Beside Tara walks Bermuda, and just behind Athena is the fan skeptical of Tara's skill. Tara can't help but glance over at this fan. She knows her from twitter and the forum, but for some reason she can't think of the woman's name. On the other side of her is another fan she can't quite remember the name of, the one with the tattoos. Jim walks beside him, and Steve pulls up the rear with a few of the less brave fans that had stepped forth. Rubén weaves in and out of the crowd, still trying to get that elusive cell phone signal.

Only four of the fans in the group have cars, but thankfully two of the drove minivans. Finch and Tara climb into the front seat of the tiny rental Tara drove, and Steve and the guy with the tattoos climb into the backseat. As the minivans and the other car fill up, it's clear that these vehicles will have to hold more people than they were designed to.

Thankfully there is an excess of rope and extension cords at their disposal from the ruins of the stage and the tour bus, and it doesn't take long to rig up a semi-safe "net" of rope and extension cords for those unfortunate enough to not be able to squeeze into one of the vehicles to hold onto.

One particularly small fan climbs up onto the tiny rental car, and after a bit of scuffing and scrambling pounds on the roof of the car. Ready to go.

They speed off through the parking lot, following the signs of the hasty getaway of the terrorists with Al.

As they merge onto the freeway, Tara speeds up, hoping the fan on her roof has a good footing. Hoping that Al will still be in one piece when they reach him.

It doesn't take long for them to regain a visual on the terrorists. To both the fans' surprise and chagrin, the terrorists have chosen a generic black windowless van as their getaway vehicle, and they're actively crashing through traffic.

"FINCH," Tara shouts, "TEXT ATHENA, TELL HER TO GET THE OTHER CAR UP TO OUR LEVEL. WE HAVE TO GET THROUGH THIS CROWD."

"ON IT!" Finch says, already dialing Athena's number. Soon the other car, not much bigger than the one they're in, has matched their speed and is neck and neck with them. Tara glances over and nods before speeding up and passing an SUV on the right shoulder. From the backseat, one of the men gives a small yelp of surprise as two of their wheels go off the road. Tara fights with the wheel for a few moments before pulling the car back up onto the road and nearly ramming directly into the side of the van. They can hear Al screaming.

The sound sends Tara into a rage.

"Hold on to your shit," she growls. "I'm about to wreck a rental car."

"Tara, no—" Steve protests as she speeds up and slams the front corner of her car into the back of the van. They bounce, the people inside the car tossed like ragdolls as Tara tries in vain to regain control of the vehicle. The fan on top of the car is thrown down across the windshield but still they hang on.

The car doesn't stop until it's down in the right hand ditch on its side. The person on top of the car has been thrown from the vehicle, and the one with the tattoos is out cold, but the rest of those in the car seem to have escaped the crash relatively unscathed.

As they pull themselves from the wreckage of the car, they witness the other car and one of the minivans successfully driving the van off the road. Probably half a mile up the road the van swerves into the ditch, rolling twice before landing on its roof. Tara and Finch shriek as they run forward, forcing themselves to run as fast as they can though their bodies protest every movement.

"Al!" they scream as they approach. The van is oozing blood and rocking lightly as the survivors thrash and fight to untangle themselves from the wreckage. Thankfully, they can still hear Al screaming from inside.

Athena, Steve, Jim, Bermuda, and a few others arrive at the van at the same time as Finch and Tara, and they surround the van in hopes of stopping any kind of dashing escape the terrorists might attempt even now.


	5. Chapter 5

The van shakes and from inside the group— those who remain in the group, I should say— can hear panicked screaming and the sound of a continuous struggle. Four lay dead on the highway or in the ditch, including the foolhardy fan who'd climbed atop Tara's car and Gerald's friend, who continuously pointed out that his friend was not sober.

Those who survived the wreck on the highway looked to be in pretty bad shape, save for our trio of heroes. Finch, Athena, and Tara stand near each other, shoulders squared, prepared to do what they know they'll have to do. Across from them, on the other side of the van, Steve and Bermuda are prying open the passenger-side door. It is no small task, the frame of the vehicle was bent rather severely from all the rolling.

Something heavy hits the back of the van and a terrible scream erupts from inside. Seconds later, Steve and Bermuda stagger backwards as the door finally relents and swings open.

Blinding light and a deafening _bang_ fill the senses of those gathered around the van, and in a few precious, stunned seconds the only thing anyone in the group knows is that the terrorists are getting away.

Finch is the first to their feet after staggering back after the flash bang went off, and they're the first ones to take off running after the four men dressed all in black dragging what appears to be an incredibly lifeless Yankovic.

Jim and Rubén follow close behind, but the rest of the group are far slower to react. As Athena stands and shrugs out of her costume jacket— now damaged beyond recognition and missing the majority of the medals and patches she'd spent so damn much money on— she realizes that Bermuda might be dead. His face is burned black and he's lying at such an odd angle. Did the flash bang go off in his face?

She takes off running after the scattered crowd of fans and band members still unwilling to give up.

Tara is the last of the group to push herself to her feet, and it is with great pain as she realizes that her knee displaced when she was blown back. Before she can give chase, she has to find something she can brace herself on.

Looking around the unconscious and possibly dead bodies of her comrades, she wonders what the hell these assholes' motive could possibly be. _These fans…_ she thinks. _Some of them were only children. They chose to come with us but at what cost? Who deserves this?_

She has to crawl over the dead, mangled bodies of two of the terrorists in the van before she finds something that can support her weight: a half-destroyed assault rifle. Sure, it might explode or go off unexpectedly, but it's a risk she'll have to take.


	6. Chapter 6

When she finally catches up to the group, Tara can't believe her eyes. She's beyond proud to see Finch on the back of one of the terrorists, clawing at his face and kneeing him in the kidneys. Athena is wrestling a rifle away from another terrorist, while Jim and Rubén are focused on the one who had held a knife to Al's throat on stage.

Behind that man, who now holds a handgun level at Jim's face, stands a less confident looking man whose ski mask is only a distant memory. Draped across that man's shoulders is the limp form of one "Weird Al" Yankovic. He doesn't look so good. Is he even breathing? Tara can't tell from the distance at which she stands. She prays they aren't too late.

"Give it up!" she shouts as she approaches. "We outnumber you!"

From somewhere behind her, a distant voice shouts, "UHF WAS THE BEST MOVIE EVER!" Tara has to resist the urge to tell drunk Gerald that he is, in fact, drunk as a grin spreads across her face. _Reinforcements. Yes._

"Hurry your ass up, Gerald!" she cries.

It is her second outburst that calls the attention of the terrorists away from Jim and Rubén long enough for Rubén to barrel into the one leveling the gun at Jim's head. As he tackles the man, the gun goes off, sending a bullet off into the sky. Jim staggers back, uninjured but frightened, as the one holding Al fumbles with the gun in the holster on his hip. Tara picks up the gun and takes off running at the last man standing.

Her knee screams at her with every step, but she pushes on. She channels the pain into a great, terrible war cry as she lifts the gun high above her head and swings, narrowly missing Al's limp form as the gun makes contact with the terrorist's fumbling hand. A sickening crack, not unlike a wet towel being slapped against hot dry pavement, rings out through the air and the terrorist howls in pain. It is only then that Tara recognizes him.

"You!" she shrieks, rearing back in preparation to hit him again as he staggers. "I KNEW you were evil! I just knew it!"

As she brought the gun down again, the terrorist suddenly grinned. Before she could react, she felt a sharp pain against the back of her head.

And the world went black.


	7. Chapter 7

"Unh, my head," are the first words to escape Tara's mouth as she comes to. It takes a few seconds to realize that she's moving, and a few seconds longer to realize that she's not alone. As she opens her eyes, all she can see is fuzzy red carpet and a bloody leg visible through a tear in some incredibly loud pants. She tries to move her hands to push herself up into a better position, but realizes she can't move her arms. As she fights to move her arms, she can feel that her wrists are bound.

"Fuck," she mumbles under her breath.

"Oh look, the pain fairy is coming to," a cool, rough voice purrs from somewhere to her left. The cold flesh of a leather glove takes her by the bare skin at the back of her neck and forces her upright. It is not a pleasant experience. As she finally is sat upright, however, she can see that Al Yankovic _is_ in fact still alive, but in incredibly rough shape.

A quick glance at her surroundings reveals that the terrorists' numbers are back up to at least six, implying that the ones transporting Al previously had not been the only ones in on the attack. Though they all wore masks once more, she can immediately tell which one it was that she'd recognized and broken the arm of. He is holding it gingerly in his lap and glaring at her with all the evil she had sensed in his soul the moment she'd first laid eyes on the fucker.

"You," she hisses. "I should've known you'd be in on this—" Her words catch in her throat as the back of that cool leather glove hits her cheek with enough force to leave her breathless. Though, that may just be the fact that the force of the slap has knocked her nearly into Al's lap leaving her breathless. She squirms, trying hard not to let her head hit his lap as she fights to right herself again.

" _You_ will be silent. It's because of you three of my best men are dead," the man with the rough voice says.

A warm, soft hand makes contact with her arm and she freezes, heart pounding. They were really stupid enough to leave Al's arms free?

"Here, let me help." His voice is right in her ear, and she feels tears welling in her eyes as the man she'd fangirled over since her childhood helps her sit back up.

"You'd do well to keep quiet as well, Yankovic," says rough voice. Tara turns to glare at rough voice.

"How dare you?" she demands.

"Oh, look, she's crying," says the injured one. Rough voice, who looks far less intimidating than he sounds, lifts his hand to smack her again. She twists to face him head on.

"Oh yeah, I'm crying. You know why? Because I was hoping to get to see Al after the concert _but not like this_. How _dare_ you? How—" Another mighty slap from a leather-gloved hand and she's laid out cold across Al's legs.

When she comes to again, she's being dragged roughly out of the van and into what appeared to be a huge, dark barn. _Where are we? Shit, my head hurts,_ she thinks as she's tossed roughly to the ground. Shortly after she hits the broken wooden boards of the floor, she hears Al grunt as he, too, hits the ground.

The sound of scuffling shoes and a door slamming shut are followed by the unique squeal of tires on dirt, then silence.

"Al?" she asks. When she isn't immediately smacked for speaking out of turn, she starts trying to wiggle her way toward where she'd heard Al hit the ground. A warm hand comes into contact with her exposed elbow and she jerks back, looking in the direction the hand had come from. In the exceedingly dim light of the moon coming in through the decaying roof of the building, she can just make out the concerned visage of none other than her idol.


	8. Chapter 8

"Shit—Oh fuck—crap I'm sorry—shit Tara get it _together_ ," she hisses as she scrambles away from him.

"Hey—hey, easy now," he says, and Tara's breath catches in her throat. "You're okay, I—I think they've gone." For a moment they listen to the ambient sounds of nature and the strange, uneven silence of their ragged, terrified breathing.

"Are you injured?" he asks. Tara manages to shake her head, no, but realizes as she's doing it precisely how stupid it was to think he could see her in the darkness. She had to strain her eyes in order to even tell that it was him.

"N-no," she manages to stammer in a tiny, squeaky voice. The pain radiating through her skull from the back of her head begs to differ, but she can't focus on that right now. She struggles to sit upright, but her tutu is caught on a broken board and the tape that binds her wrists together is caught on a loose nail. Struggling just makes it worse, and soon she's just short of sobbing in the presence of the man she's looked up to for more than a decade.

"Easy—here, let me help you," Al says. The second he touches her arm she freezes. She wants to crawl out of her skin as his hand trails down her arm until it reaches the tape that binds her wrists. When his other hand casually strokes her wrist as he probes the tape with his fingers, she lets out a tiny yelp. He pulls away.

"Did I hurt you?" he asks. She shakes her head, cursing herself inwardly as she remembers that hey, it's dark in there dumbass, he can't see you moving.

"I… I'm not big on being touched."

"Sorry," he says. "I think I can get the tape off."

"Please do," she replies. His hand is more hesitant this time as he finds her wrists again. He gently pulls her away from the nail that's snagged the tape before going to work on unraveling it from around her wrists. It's a task easier said than done, but he manages to free her with a little effort. Her hands fly apart as he frees her and she frees her tutu from where it's caught on a broken board.

"We have to get out of here," she says as she forces herself to her feet. "We have to find my friends—"

"We have no idea where we are," Al replies. "We could be in the middle of nowhere." They hear the sound of a nearby chorus of crickets and not much more. In the distance, they hear what _could_ be the sound of a car passing on a dirt road. "We probably _are_ in the middle of nowhere."

"That doesn't mean we can't—" her words catch in her throat as she drops to her knees. _It's pointless. We're fucked_ , she thinks. "I mean, if they come back— _when_ they come back, we have to be ready for them or they could—I mean—Oh god."

It's all she can do to choke back a sob as she covers her face with her hands. "Oh god I can't believe this is happening. This can't be happening. This was just supposed to be a fun trip to a concert with my friends—"

She glances over at him through her fingers and clamps her hands tighter against her face. "I can't believe this. It's really you. This is really happening." She looks over at him again before looking up at the sky through the holes in the roof. She can see glimpses of stars and the pale white moon. "When I said I'd give anything to have time to talk to Weird Al I didn't mean like THIS," she shouts into the void.

"Excuse me?" Al asks, the smallest traces of a giggle apparent in his voice. Tara's eyes bug out so far from her skull that she's amazed they're even still attached to her.

"Oh my god I just said that out loud didn't I," she murmurs. "Why didn't they just kill me?"

"I appreciate that this is awkward, but I take offense at the idea that you'd rather be dead than be here with me."

"I—I didn't mean it that way," she says, all color draining from her face. "Oh god, this is terrible. I never should've gone to the concert—"

"You tried to save my life."

"OF COURSE I DID!" she cries. "What else _could_ I do?"

"No, you—You were the first fan over the barrier when it happened. You tried to—" Suddenly, warm arms envelope her shaky body and everything is wonderful. All she can smell was his strangely fruity shampoo and the musk of his sweat and fear. "Thank you."

"But—"

"You risked your life coming after me," he says.

"I risked your life trying to save you," she says, her voice muffled by his shoulder. "I thought—When they were dragging you along through the ditch—I—" A horrible sob rips through her.

"Your friends—the band… are they…?" Al asks as he finally frees her from the hug. As she opens her eyes she almost expects to be standing in some dimly lit hallway with the VIP concierge staring her down like she's taking up TOO MUCH TIME…

"I don't know. I… Bermuda didn't look so good, last I saw him. I don't know how any of them are doing now. Last thing I remember someone clocked me over the head with something heavy right after I broke PT's arm."

"PT? The VIP concierge?" Al sounds positively scandalized.

"You… You didn't know?"

"When the van lost control on the highway I was thrown headfirst against the door. And then when that flash grenade went off it was right in front of my _face_ …" Tara can't help but giggle. He says _face_ the same way he says it in Albuquerque. "…put out a grease fire with my _face_ …" This earns her a curious look from the man sitting all too close to her now, and she can't figure out a way to tell him why she's laughing at something so horrible.

"So…" she says. Al says nothing. "We should… We should probably come up with a plan for when they come back. If they come back."

"They'll be back," Al says. "But I don't see a whole lot we could do. It's safe to assume they didn't leave us weapons."

"Well, they left me," Tara says. She's thankful for the darkness so he can't see the look of utter revulsion on her face as she says anything good about herself. "They bound my hands, they clearly saw me as a threat."

"They've got guns and you're a child," Al points out. She rolls her eyes.

"I'm almost 27," she says. Though she can't see the look of shock on his face she knows it's there. "And I'm tougher than I look."

"You hopped a barricade trying to save me. If you're tougher than _that_ …"

"Look, can I… Can I just say something? Like, I know this isn't an ideal situation and I know we're in more of a 'two people banding together to save their lives' situation than anything, but…"

"Go ahead," Al says. "What is it?"

"Look, this… You probably hear it all the time from all different people, but I grew up listening to your music. Your… Your music was kind of the soundtrack to my middle school and high school years. I was… I never really fit in and people treated me like a complete waste of space but somehow… Your music made me feel like less of a worthless hunk of slime and it… You're kind of my hero."

The silence that hangs between the two of them when she finishes her little speech is the most terrible thing Tara has ever endured.

"Could I… Could I have another hug?" she asks after a while. Al readily obliges, and this time she wraps her arms around him and refuses to let go.


	9. Chapter 9

Finch and Athena don't realize that Tara is gone until well after the dust has settled and the only terrorists left behind are quite dead. First they look around for Al. When Tara doesn't immediately join them, they begin searching the tall grass of the ditch for their potentially injured or dead friend.

"I found something!" Finch calls suddenly as they sweep the area where Al and Tara had last been seen. "It's her phone!"

Athena runs over to join them. "Look at all that blood!" she says, pointing her phone's flashlight at the dirt at their feet.

"We've got to find them," Finch says, looking away from the caked, dried blood on the ground. Neither of them wants to think about what all that blood could mean. "We have to find them _now_."

"How? There's only five of us who aren't dead or injured. There's at least six of them," Athena replies, looking back at the beat up group that's still with them.

"WAIT," Finch cries, shining their flashlight at the ground near the edge of the dried blood puddle. _Glitter_. "Do you see what I see?"

Athena looks and shrugs, shaking her head.

"Tara's tutu. All that glitter! She was shedding the entire way to the concert, we can follow the glitter—"

"If they got into a car though we're screwed," Athena points out.

"The ground's soft enough," Finch points out. "There'll be tracks leading to the road. We can follow the direction they went and figure it out from there."

"Great, because there's no way they just got off the highway as soon as they got on," Athena snaps.

"Hey!" Finch says. "The more we argue about it, the further away they're getting. We're putting Al and Tara's lives in danger sitting here talking about it! If you've got a better idea, I'd love to hear it, but if not we need to _go_."

Though she doesn't plan to say anything, Tara is really starting to regret wearing the costume she wore for the concert. As the night drags on, there is a distinct chill to the air. It was one thing she had always enjoyed about summer in the Midwest: the 30+ degree temperature drop at night. But now that she is stuck in a dilapidated old barn with "Weird Al" Yankovic, she is beginning to hate the cold.

She's taken to pacing around the perimeter of the barn, tripping over loose boards and stumbling through holes as she goes, her arms folded tight across her chest in an effort to keep warm. Al stays near the door, trying in vain to force it open.

The moon is almost perfectly centered in the sky above them, illuminating the innards of the barn with a pale bluish glow. Tara has to force herself to keep her eyes averted or she knows she'll just stare at Al.

It's her third time going around the barn when Al throws his hand out in front of her and stops her. She stops just short of actually running into his hand.

"I think," he says, "if we both hit the door as hard as we can, we might be able to bust it open. The wood is brittle and decayed. With the right amount of force…"

"It…" Tara looks around, purposely avoiding looking him in the eye. "There's a weaker point in the far corner there. We might want to try breaking through _there_ , it would buy us more time when they come back if they don't think the door's been tampered with."

"Show me," Al says. He follows her across the barn, stepping forward to catch her as her injured knee threatens to give out on her, but she rights herself before he can touch her. "You should rest."

"M knee does this all the time," she says. It's not entirely a lie. She's had a trick knee since she was a teenager. The recent injury feels far worse than anything she's ever done to it, however.

"If you're injured—"

"The only thing I care about is getting you back to Suzanne and Nina," Tara snaps. "If that comes at loss of functionality in one of my limbs, it's a small price to pay."

The reach the part of the wall she'd spoken of. The wood was splintered and full of holes. It shouldn't take too much effort from the two of them. As they position themselves to try to break through the wall, Tara is thankful that Al stays silent. His silence is more merciful than anything he could say.

"Okay," he says, and she flinches. "On the count of three, we ram the weak spot with our shoulders." Tara nods.

"Al?" she asks. She can feel him looking at her. "Never mind."

"What?" he asks. She shakes her head.

"Never mind. Count of three?"

Al nods. "One."

"Two."


	10. Chapter 10

How Tara had managed to litter the highway with glitter from her tutu, Finch, Athena, and the others would never understand. But they are all singing her praises as Athena gets behind the wheel of the ancient conversion van that apparently belongs to Gerald. Gerald is still incredibly drunk, as though he's been drinking all through the terrorist attack and subsequent rescue attempt. He doesn't question why a teenager is the one who will be driving his van.

They'd followed the glitter trail to some deep tire tracks that led them back to the highway, as they expected.

And now Jim, Rubén, Gerald, Athena, and Finch are climbing into Gerald's van, which Gerald's mother was kind enough to drive out to them.

"I saw you on the TV don'tcha know," she says as she climbs into the backseat. "In the background of the news story. You know the President gave an official address. The US will not negotiate with terrorists."

"Tell us something we don't know," Jim says, rolling his eyes.

"Why do you think we're doing this?" Finch asks.

"UHF! UHF! UHF!" shouts Gerald.

"SHUT UP, GERALD, YOU'RE DRUNK," everybody in the van says in unison as Athena revs the engine.

"Hold on to your butts," Athena says. Pink glitter on the pavement twinkles in the van's headlights as they take off down the road.

"THREE!"

Tara and Al rush forward, both expecting at least _some_ resistance from the wall. It offers as much resistance as Swiss cheese offers against a hot cheese knife. They both continue forward, tumbling across the rough dirt just beyond the barn wall and landing in a tangled heap about ten feet from the barn.

"Ow," Tara groans. She can already feel a bruise forming on her left thigh, and a good amount of her left arm was scraped and bleeding. "Well. That was an adventure," she mumbles as she pulls herself away from Al and takes stock of her injuries.

Al doesn't move. Tara glances over at him, unsure of what to do. "Al?" she asks. She's shocked by how small her voice sounds. He doesn't reply. _Shit_ , she thinks. _Is he breathing? Shit._

She turns her attention back to him and carefully rolls him onto his back. His shirt is torn from the shoulder down to just below his ribcage, exposing a myriad of fresh bruises.

She stares at him for a moment before pressing her fingers to his throat and checking his pulse. _Well, his heart's still beating,_ she thinks, relieved. His chest is slowly moving up and down as he breathes in short, ragged breaths.

"Al?" she asks again, poking him in the cheek. A pained grunt is his only reply. She rolls her eyes and pokes him in the cheek again.

"Five more minutes," he groans, turning his face away from her.

"You're lying in dirt, sir," Tara says. "I don't think that can possibly be comfortable."

"Huh?" It's only then that his eyes open. Tara can't remember a time she was happier to see his beautiful brown eyes, even if it was only by the light of the moon. "What happened?" he asks as he moves to sit up. He groans in pain as he pulls himself up onto his elbows, and lies back down. His eyes close. He looks pained.

"The wall was weaker than we expected," Tara says. _I thought you were dead. Again_ , she thinks. "Can you move?"

"I think so," he says. "Nothing feels _broken_ , but it feels like I just did four concerts in a row."

Tara looks around nervously. Those men could come back at any time and they didn't have any kind of real plan aside from _escape_. With her bum knee and now Al's bum _everything_ , it would take them at least twice as long to get anywhere.


	11. Chapter 11

The glitter trail ended around midday about a mile and a half down a crumbling highway in the middle of northeastern Nebraska. When they ran out of glitter to follow, the ragtag group of misfits pulled off to the side of the road and tried to decide what they would do next.

"Well, that's it," says Athena, hitting the steering wheel in frustration. "We're never gonna find them."

"Don't say that," Finch says, glaring at her. "We can't give up. Al and Tara are in danger and we might be the only ones who can help."

"What about that barn over there?" Rubén asks, pointing across the road. There, down a long, narrow dirt driveway, stands a rotting barn.

"Why would they be there?" Athena asks, crinkling her nose at the idea. "That place is falling apart!"

"Look at the tire tracks," he says. "They look pretty fresh to me."

"UHF—" Gerald starts, but Jim smacks him upside the head.

"Not the time," he barks. Gerald nods knowingly and closes his mouth.

"It could be a trap," Athena says. "They've got to know we're following them."

"If they're that aware of us, they wouldn't stash them. They'd keep going," Rubén points out. "Look at the property. You can tell nobody uses that barn anymore. Yet there's fresh tire tracks out front. _Somebody_ has been there within the past twelve hours, and I don't think it's whoever owns that farm."

"Let's check it out," Finch agrees. "If nothing else, we might find a clue that'll help us find them."

Athena opens her mouth to protest, but seems to think better of it. She pulls the van off further into the ditch and they all get out.

The air is hot and sticky; they can see the heat rising from the pavement as they hurry across. They're far more cautious as they slink down the driveway, just in case of an ambush. As they approach the barn however, it becomes exceedingly clear that they are alone. The silence is palpable as they stand staring at the doors, unsure if they should open them. They aren't sure if they want to know what lay inside.

Athena is the first one to approach the doors. As she puts her hand on the wood, it crumbles like bleu cheese in her hand. Pulling the door open causes it to nearly disintegrate in her hands.

Peering into the barn, they are both relieved and disheartened to find it empty. But as they look more closely, a flash of pink sparkly tulle catches Finch's eye.

"TARA'S TUTU!" they cry, pointing toward the far back corner of the barn. There's a fairly large hole in the wall, and just beyond it lays a torn tutu and evidence of a struggle.

"They were here," Finch says. "This has to be her tutu. She left this for us to find."

"Where are they now though?" Athena asks, putting her hands on her hips. "We're up shit creek without a paddle again. If they haven't been taken elsewhere by the terrorists, they're obviously being smart enough to cover their tracks. We're never gonna find them."

"Yes we are," Finch says. "If they've escaped, and that hole leads me to believe that's the case, there's no way they've gone too far. They're injured, they're tired, and they're scared. They'll probably be hiding. If we just fan out—"

"We don't know how long they've been running now," Gerald says. "Best case scenario, they're only a couple hours ahead of us and we can catch up in fairly short order, but considering that we don't know how much of a lead the terrorists actually had on us they could be as much as half a day ahead of us and that's going to make this exceedingly difficult." Everyone stares at him in stunned silence, and for a moment he looks really confused.

"I mean, uh…" He scratches the back of his neck. "UHF… UHF rules?"

Tara's tutu was a necessary casualty; when she tied the elastic from the waistband between two sticks and dragged them behind her as she walked, she found that it would cover their tracks fairly well. They hadn't rested long after breaking out of the barn; they couldn't risk their abductors returning and recapturing them.

As the sun was rising in the sky, they approached another barn. It seemed nearly as old and rotten as the one from which they'd just escaped, though they weren't entirely certain it was abandoned, so after agonizing for more than twenty minutes as they approached they decided they would pass it up in favor of a small patch of trees they could see not too far past the barn.

By the time they reached the trees, they could hardly stay standing. Tara's knee was screaming at her and Al was stumbling over his own feet.

They tried to find the thickest part as far from any road or building as they could manage before they collapsed side by side.

"I dunno," Al said as they drifted off to sleep. "Dirt seems pretty comfortable right now."

It takes Tara a few moments to figure out precisely what he meant by that, and by the time she actually laughs, he's fallen asleep.

They wake to the cawing of a nearby crow and the distant roar of a tractor. Tara's eyes snap open and she sits bolt upright, immediately on alert. She didn't know how long she'd slept but she knew it wasn't quite enough. She was alert but incredibly groggy.

Beside her, Al rolls onto his side, facing away from her and groaning. "Sue honey, tell the gardener to skip it today, the lawn looks _fine_ …" he grumbles. Tara can't help but give him an incredulous look. She is fully aware that she'd slept on the ground. _What the hell kind of mattress does this man have?_

"Sir— Al, um… That's a tractor and I'm not Suzanne," she says after a few moments of stunned silence. Al waves his hand dismissively and grunts. "How can that possibly be comfortable?"

"Can't talk, sleeping," he grumbles.

"You're obviously not," Tara replies.

"Yes I am. I'm asleep right now."

"Al, I know you're tired, but we should really keep moving. The longer we stay in one place…"

Al finally relents, yawning and stretching before slowly sitting up. Tara has to look away; the look of pain on his face hurts her heart. She's thankful that the pain in her knee has dulled, if only slightly. Walking on it will be hard, but not impossible. And now that they had the cover of trees for a short stretch she might be able to find a walking stick.

There had been a couple of instances earlier that day that Al had had to catch her as her knee gave, and she felt awful for that. He was sore enough without having to catch her.

"We're quite a pair, aren't we?" Al asks as he stands up. Leaning on a nearby tree makes this task far easier than he'd thought it would be.

"Oh yeah," Tara says, rolling her eyes. "A regular dream team."

"How's your knee?" he asks. Tara stares at him. "You were crying about it in your sleep."

"I was?" she asks. She can feel her cheeks flushing bright red. "It… It's not so bad." Of course, she decides to show him that it's nothing to worry about by pulling herself to her feet at that exact moment. It doesn't work. Before she manages to fully stand up, her knee gives out and she collapses. She lies there in the dirt whimpering as her knee throbs painfully.

Al raises an eyebrow and crouches beside her. His body is a cacophony of pops and snaps, and he grunts in discomfort as he cracks his neck and shoulders for good measure. Before she can protest, he's got both of his hands on her injured knee. In one quick motion, he shifts the joint back into place. Tara yelps in pain, but almost as quickly as he's done it the pain dulls to something manageable.

"How'd you know to do that?" Tara asks as he helps her to her feet. Though her knee is a little weak, it will hold her weight now. She can already tell walking is going to be just as painful as it had been before their nap.

"Little trick you pick up on tour," he says nonchalantly. "You wouldn't believe some of the things I've seen." There is a strange, far-away look in his eyes as he says that; he almost looks haunted.

"We should probably get going," Tara says after a moment of studying him. He shakes his head to clear his thoughts and nods.


	12. Chapter 12

Rubén and Athena volunteer to go back to the van and try to head Al and Tara off if they can, leaving Finch, Gerald, and Jim to follow on foot. They're not sure precisely _where_ to go, but they follow the path of least resistance.

"Finch?" Jim asks as they wander through overgrown and dead wheat and cornfields.

"Yeah?" he replies, cocking his head to the side as he glances up at the band member.

"Is Athena always like that?"

"Always like what?"

"Shady as hell."

Finch thinks for a long moment as the trio moves in silence. "Well, not usually _quite_ this shady. But she does pride herself on being pretty damn shady."

Gerald doesn't seem to be paying any attention to the conversation as he wanders further and further from Jim and Finch. He's humming a song to himself that sounds an awful lot like Fun Zone, but Finch and Jim can't quite hear it clearly enough to tell.

"Wait, stop, hold the phone," Finch says, stopping and backing up a few steps. "Look!" He points at the dirt in front of them. Though it's fairly dry and dusty, there is the clear imprint of a sneaker sole. It looks to be too big to belong to Tara, but not too big to belong to Al.

"We're on the right track," Jim says.

"They're doing a pretty good job covering their tracks," Finch says as he stoops down to get a better look at the shoe print.

Gerald exclaims suddenly, and Finch and Jim realize they can no longer see him.

"Gerald?" Jim asks.

The young man stumbles out of the overgrown cornfield to their left— though he'd been on their right when they'd begun their walk— carrying two ancient-looking glass bottles.

"UHF RUUUUUULES!" he shouts happily as he pops the cap off of one of the bottles and guzzles its contents. Finch rolls his eyes and sighs. Jim covers half his face with his hand and shakes his head.

"Where did you find that?" Jim asks. Gerald shrugs and belches loudly as he finally lowers the bottle, which is now half empty. "What even is it?"

"Vodka," Gerald belches. "Tripped over it lookin' for Al."

Neither Jim nor Finch alert him that he just said something other than praise for UHF, and he doesn't seem to notice. He does, however, look far more comfortable since discovering the bottles.

"Let's keep going," Finch says. "We're getting close.

In the van, the atmosphere a far cry from the lighthearted frivolity of the three giving chase on foot. Neither Rubén nor Athena speak a word to each other as they drive down a long, overgrown, dirt service road. Rubén focuses his attention on the trees they're rapidly approaching and trying to see between the gaps in the plants as they pass row after row of dead and dying corn stalks.

It's all Athena can do to keep the van on the road, though she'd hardly call what she drove on a 'road' by any means. It was rougher than any road she'd ever driven on.

"Stop," Rubén says suddenly. When Athena doesn't immediately comply, he turns and looks at her. "Hello, _stop!_ "

"Why?"

" _Stop the van_ ," he says. The van shudders to a stop, and Rubén hops out. Once out of the van, he stops and looks off into the distance before taking off running through the corn.

"Rubén! Where are you going?" Athena demands. "RUBÉN!"

Tara has never felt more anxious in her life than she does right now with her arm draped across Al's back for support as she walks. She's insisted for at _least_ a mile that she can walk on her own, but Al's arm has yet to move from around her waist. He has to walk slightly hunched over, and Tara is _certain_ that it can't be comfortable. He doesn't complain, though.

"You know, I've heard some broken records in my time but _this_ is getting ridiculous," Al finally says after Tara's twenty-seventh time insisting that she can walk just fine on her own.

"I—" Tara opens her mouth a few times to reply, but closes it right back up each time. She's suddenly right back where she was the last time she'd been in Al's presence, months ago at one of the first concerts of the tour. She hadn't been able to form a coherent sentence _then_ and she certainly couldn't find words to string together now.

"I don't bite," Al says after another ten solid minutes of silence. "This might pass a bit more quickly if we talk to each other."

"Or," Tara says, taking a deep breath, "talking could draw our abductors straight to us." Al sighs and nods.

They walk in silence for a long time. There are a few birds singing and the wind is rustling the leaves on the trees, but beyond that their walk is silent.

"I can't do it," Tara whispers. Al cocks his head to the side.

"Should we stop and rest?" he asks. She shakes her head.

"No, it's not that," she says. "I'm scared, okay? I'm frickin' scared."

"I am, too," Al says. "I've never had something like this happen to me before."

"I've never had to deal with the fact that you're a real person," Tara says. She immediately regrets saying anything. They stop walking.

For a moment she expects him to go off and lecture her, but he doesn't say anything. He helps her sit down, even though she's nowhere near tired enough to rest yet.

"Al— Mr. Yankovic— I didn't— I mean…" Tara's heart is threatening to beat right out of her chest. "I… I spent my childhood imagining what it must be like to be you. To _know_ you. Hell, to even have met you. I mean, you've been my idol since I was super young. But back then I mean I never thought it was even _possible_ for someone like me to get to meet someone like you. I don't know how but I convinced myself that you couldn't possibly be real. And yet here you are."

At this point Tara knows she's about knee-deep in wordvomit at this point, but she can't stop. The reaction Al seems to have had to what she'd said has triggered an anxiety attack and now she's terrified that he hates her.

"I— Forget I said anything I'm sorry this is why I haven't been talking not because I'm afraid we're gonna be found by the wrong people," she says, looking at the ground.

"You don't have to be afraid of me. You already earned my respect," Al says after a long moment."

"You wouldn't be in this situation if it wasn't for me," Tara says.

"No," Al replies. "I refuse to let you keep saying that. I mean, you're _right_ , I wouldn't be in _this_ situation. No, I'd be in one far worse than this. I might be a bit beat up, tired, and hungry, but I'm free. And we're making progress with this escape. So far nobody's following us."

"That we're aware of," Tara points out. She hasn't looked up from the spot on the ground she's fixated on yet. "Every time we stop we increase the risk of someone finding us."

"Do you think they've realized we're not still in that barn yet?" Al asks.

"Oh, we're well aware," an all-too-familiar voice says.


	13. Chapter 13

Tara was up on her feet quicker than she'd ever been. There is enough adrenaline coursing through her veins that her knee, though it cracks and sags as she moves to put herself between Al and PT, causes her no pain.

"Just step aside and you'll be able to walk away from this," PT says to her, leveling a gun at her chest as she makes herself as big as possible to shield Al.

"Not a chance," she growls. In her imagination she sees herself as a force to be reckoned with. In reality however, she's fully aware that she's a fat woman with resting bitch face leveling an icy glare at a man with a gun. She's unarmed.

"Tara, no—" Al whispers.

"Tara, _yes_ ," replies Tara under her breath. There is a small but audible click as PT cocks the gun and steadies it with his other hand.

"Last chance," he says.

"If you're gonna shoot me, shoot me. But you risk hitting Al. And you don't want that, do you?"

"Tara—" Al's voice is tinged with fear, a stark contrast from the cool and collected voice she's managing to pull off.

 _Blam_.

"Did you hear that?" Finch says, holding his arm out to stop the other two as the sound of either a firework or a gunshot rings through the air. Either way, the sound isn't so far in the distance.

The three of them break into a sprint for the line of trees they can see past a terribly aged barn that seems on the verge of collapsing.

Athena hears the gunshot as she steps out of the van to go after Rubén. For a split second she's frozen in terror, knowing that the only reason she'd be hearing a gunshot is if one of the terrorists managed to locate Al and Tara…

But she steels herself quickly and takes off after Rubén, hoping he'll lead her right to Al.


	14. Chapter 14

For a moment, nobody moves. In fact, it's almost as if time stopped the second PT squeezed the trigger.

Tara braced herself for the pain she was certain was coming. The man had to have the aim of a stormtrooper in order to _not_ hit her at such close range, after all. But the pain doesn't come.

Agonizingly slow moments pass before she hears Al hit the ground behind her. Her eyes widen in horror as she whips around to see Al clutching his side, his face scrunched in terrible pain. A horrified scream rips itself from her lungs as she takes one step toward him before realizing the very real danger in turning her back on PT.

 _Blam._

A second gunshot is nearly deafening as they approach a short, chubby man with a bad crew cut dressed in black facing two figures lying in the dirt. Gerald is the first to find his feet after the disorienting sound of gunfire from so close, and in six long strides he's on the short, chubby man's back, wrestling a gun away from him.

"Al!" Rubén's voice sounds strange. "Al, buddy— Oh no…"

Finch and Jim rush forward and Finch flings himself at the man that Gerald is struggling with. Together they bring him down, sending a gun skidding across the dirt before hitting a tree trunk and going off a third time.

 _Blam_.

Everything is very quiet after that third gunshot.


	15. Chapter 15

When the dust settles, PT lies limp on the ground, his arms splayed in unnatural positions, his eyes open and staring at nothing. Tara lies facedown in the dirt, eyes open and staring at nothing as she fights for each short, ragged breath that passes through her. Al is sitting, albeit painfully, a few inches from where Tara lies gasping for life.

Gerald is nudging PT in the side with his foot rather forcefully. Kicking him. He's kicking him. Why did I just lie to you? He's kicking him pretty hard. In the back of the head.

Finch, Jim, and Rubén are crouched by Al and Tara, but obviously more worried about Al, who _was_ bleeding pretty badly.

"I'm fine," he winces. "It just grazed me. Help her." He gestures toward Tara. When Rubén continues to fuss over the man's wound he earns himself a rather frightening glare from the parody singer.

Tara is looking pretty rough when Jim, Finch, and Rubén move to help her. She's been shot in the side, just above her left kidney, and she's losing a lot of blood.

"TARA!" Finch shrieks. Both Jim and Al offer up their shirts to help stop the bleeding as Rubén works to flip her over.

"The bullet went clear through her," he says as he gently lowers her head onto the ground. Jim presses his shirt to the wound on her back as Finch works to make a bandage out of Al's shirt.

"She's going into shock," Jim says. "We've got to get her to a hospital. We've got—"

"We've got no cell phone signal. We can't call for an ambulance and Athena's still in the van," Rubén informs them.

"Who says Athena's still in the van?" asks Athena. They all look over to see her standing near the edge of the trees, one hand on her hip, the other hand holding a pistol trained on Al's head. "Nobody moves or Al dies."

"Fuck you no way," Finch says. All color has drained from his face.

"I knew it," Jim says. "I knew we couldn't trust _you!_ "

"I want all of you to stand up _slowly_ and line up, single file. They _hate_ to be kept waiting, and this little charade has left them waiting for quite long enough."

"Fuck you!" Finch says again. Athena cocks the gun and swings her arm so she's aiming at her friend now.

"Don't test me, Finch. Everybody up. Now."

"Al and Tara are injured, they're—"

"Leave her. Jim, Rubén, Gerald, you're going to carry Al."

"We can't just _leave_ her!" Finch cries.

 _Blam_.

Athena missed.

"Move. Now. I won't miss again."

"Yes you will," Tara croaks painfully. Everybody turns to look at her in shock. "You've always been a terrible shot."


End file.
